---- Chapter 2 Hope Morton POV: | didn't cry. | didn't scream. | didn't pound on the heavy oak door and demand an explanation. | just stood there in the silent, carpeted hallway outside Kingston's office, the cold brass of the doorknob a stark contrast to the heat flushing my skin. His words, and Finn's, echoed in the sudden emptiness. She'll do it for me. My hand fell away from the door. My knuckles were white from how tightly I'd been gripping it. For a moment, | just stared at the polished wood grain, seeing the reflection of a girl | barely tecognized-a ghost, just as Finn had said. A ghost who had been haunting the edges of her own life for eight years, waiting for an invitation to step into the light. With a strange, hollow calmness, | turned and walked away. My footsteps made no sound on the plush runner. Down the elevator, through the gleaming, sterile lobby of Koch Industries, and out into the biting wind of the city street. | didn't look back. The night of the party, my phone buzzed incessantly on the worn laminate countertop of my tiny apartment. | ignored it. The grand gala, Everly's twenty-first birthday extravaganza, ---- was in full swing across town. | could picture it perfectly: the glittering chandeliers, the river of champagne, Everly in a dress that cost more than my car, and Kingston, my brother, beaming at her side. My own 'Welcome Home' dress, a simple but elegant navy blue silk I'd saved for months to buy, hung in my closet, still wrapped in plastic. When Kingston' s name finally flashed on the screen for the tenth time, a wave of weariness washed over me. | let it ring out, then watched as his panicked voicemail icon popped up. A few minutes later, a text. Kingston: Where are you? Everyone is waiting. The caterers have your favorite hors d'oeuvres ready. My favorite. Miniature quiches. Something he remembered from a dinner we had five years ago. A small, calculated detail meant to make me feel seen, even as he was erasing me. Another text. Kingston: Hope, please. Call me. I' m sending a car. | looked around my small, sparse apartment. It wasn't much, but it was mine. Every piece of furniture was secondhand, every book on the shelf read until the spine cracked. It was a life | had built myself, brick by lonely brick. Finally, his call came again. This time, | answered, the strange ---- calm still settled deep in my bones. "Hope? Thank God," he breathed, his voice a frantic rush against a backdrop of music and laughter. "Where are you? Are you okay? The driver said you weren't there." | looked out my window, down at the street below where a familiar, beat-up Ford F-150 was pulling up to the curb. The driver's side door opened, and Jaxon Spencer swung his legs out, his worn work boots hitting the pavement. He looked up at my window and smiled, a real, easy smile that reached his kind eyes. "Hope? Are you listening? | had them set up a special table for you, right next to mine. Your place setting is here. We're all waiting to welcome you home." Home. The word was a bitter pill on my tongue. "I'm already home, Kingston," | said, my voice quiet but clear. Jaxon was leaning against his truck now, his arms crossed, waiting patiently. He wasn't my blood, but he was the closest thing to family I'd ever known. We grew up in the same foster home, two lost kids who found an anchor in each other. He was the one who taught me how to change a tire, who sat with me in the ER after a stray dog | was trying to help got scared, who never, not once, made me feel like | was a ghost. "What are you talking about?" Kingston's voice was sharp with confusion and growing irritation. "Your home is here, with me. With us." ---- The memory of his promise, the one that had kept me afloat for years, rose to the surface. It wasn't made in a boardroom or over a fancy dinner. It was made in the sterile, antiseptic- smelling recovery room of a hospital. | had just given him my kidney. My body was a landscape of pain, every breath a struggle. He had been hours from total organ failure, his billion-dollar empire useless against a body that was betraying him. He had held my hand, his own trembling, tears tracking paths down his pale cheeks. "I'll never forget this, Hope," he'd whispered, his voice raw. "l swear to you. As soon as I'm better, it's all going to change. No more tiny apartment, no more living on the sidelines. I'm bringing you home. A real home. We'll have a party, the biggest damn party this city has ever seen, and I'll stand on a stage and tell the whole world that you're my sister, Hope Koch, my hero." That promise had been my lifeline. ' d clung to it through years of lonely holidays, of watching him build a perfect family with Everly while | remained on the outside, looking in. "Hope, what's going on?" His voice was demanding now, the veneer of concern cracking. "Stop playing games and get in the car | sent for you." "There's no car here, Kingston," | said, watching as Jaxon pushed off his truck and started walking toward my apartment building's entrance. "And I'm not playing games." ---- The line was silent for a beat. | could almost hear the gears turning in his head, the panic starting to set in as he realized he was losing control. "I'm with Jaxon now," | said softly, the words feeling more true than anything | had said in years. "This is my home." Before he could respond, before he could unleash the anger or the false promises | knew were coming, | ended the call. | turned off my phone and laid it on the counter, a silent black rectangle severing an eight-year-old lie. A knock sounded at my door. | opened it to find Jaxon standing there, his brow furrowed with gentle concern. "You ready to go?" | nodded, grabbing the single duffel bag | had packed. He didn't ask questions. He just took the bag from my hand, his calloused fingers brushing against mine. "Mrs. Gable made her pot roast," he said as we walked down the stairs. "She said she knew you'd be coming." Tears, hot and sudden, pricked the back of my eyes. It wasn't a grand party or a public declaration. It was pot roast in a warm kitchen, made by a woman who had taken us in when we were kids and never stopped treating us like her own. It was a place at a table that was always set for me, no matter what. It was home. ---- "Yeah," | whispered, a real smile finally breaking through the numbness. "I'm ready." In "A Relationship Kept in The Dark" by CrushReel, the storyline unfolds as renowned photographer Jane finds herself drawn to the charismatic rookie model, Hector. Little does she know that Hector harbors a secret—he is actually the heir to a powerful business empire. As their romance blossoms, Hector grapples with concealing his true identity to capture Jane's heart. 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